


Snapshots

by Vortaesthetic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Vortaesthetic
Summary: A series of Weyezri drabbles. Not in any particular order. Rating may go up.





	1. Reminders

Snapshots

Reigndeer Games

Weyoun 6/ Ezri Dax

 

“You've been locked up in here all day. Come on, let's get dinner.”

Weyoun jumped about an inch out of his seat from the sudden interruption, his custom spectacles falling askew on his face. He turns to his visitor as he rights his frames again, offering his visitor a slow smile. Ezri relishes in the laugh line listing just to the left of his full lips, a tiny glimpse of his square white teeth visible behind them. It's funny how his real smile was so much more subdued than the fake one, the difference between the warm flicker of a tealight and the electric blaze of a burning filament wire. One was warm and genuine, the other practiced, more brilliant, but somehow empty.

It had taken her some time to be able to tell the difference.

“Ah. Ezri...give me a minute, and I will join you. I apologize, the time got away from me...”

She keeps her eyes trained on him as he wanders around the room to put his padds away into their locked safes, putting his valuable work back under lock and key. He had done invaluable work for the Federation since he had defected, agreeing to the endless task of deciphering Dominion communiques and breaking their newest attempts at encryption. Weyoun may not have been blessed with an eye for beauty or a voice for singing. Instead, he had been blessed with other, more practical talents. He drifted off to the restroom to groom his hair and splash water on his face to freshen up (He often worried that he was physically aberrant in addition to his behavioral and psychological peculiarities, which gave rise to compulsive grooming).

She worried about him sometimes. Often, really. Too often for her to write it off as simple professional concern. Weyoun had a tendency to work slavishly, and took little notice of his own personal needs when he set himself to important tasks. Too often for her liking she had found him face-down in a pile of padds when fatigue had finally won out. Too often he skipped meals, nursing raktajinos as fuel to keep him going a little longer. He had enough problems maintaining healthy weight as it was. So she would note it in her professional log, come up with plans to address it in their planned sessions. On the surface, it was a professional concern only: a diagnosis, an intervention, a measurable outcome.

Ezri knew better. There were klaxons going off in her head, warning her of steering off course. Of stepping outside her bounds. She genuinely worried for him, genuinely cared for him, and she didn't realize how deeply that well ran until she realized that he lacked the means to do so for himself. She hadn't realized quite what that had meant for her until she found herself staring at his sallow skin and the bags beneath his eyes and feeling a twist of worry in her stomach, an itch in the palm of her hand to caress his cheek. An urge to bury her fingers in his thick, soft hair and stroke his scalp until his anxiety melted away. That, she reasoned, was most certainly not professional.

She would tell him often to take care of himself. That people were worried about him. He asked her who those “people” were. Everyone, she told him. She could tell he could parse what she had really meant from that.

They both knew they were entering uncharted waters. They were afraid to put a name to it, lest Starfleet find a reason to break them apart. They had twined together somehow, growing into each other, taking strength from the other. His eyes lingered on her face, tracing her spots, his hands lingering in their innocent touches. She could see his pulse jump in his slender throat when she was near and knew instinctively that he felt their strange magnetism too. His violet eyes beckoned to her like a drowning man clung to his lifeline. She knew once she had caught him studying the length of her eyelashes that it was too late to separate them. The consequences would be devastating.

She could not bear it to see him fall. Not here. Not now. 

Not ever.

The worst part was knowing that without her help, he would walk right over the edge.

“Ezri?”

She broke out of her own ruminations to find Weyoun waiting at the door for her. He looked at her with a strange cast to his face, like he was trying to read her mind. “We can head down now, Ezri. We probably should hurry. Curfew is in half an hour...are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

They walk out the door together in companionable silence, but she feels the tentative tap of his fingers against her hanging hand in a wordless appeal to twine his fingers with hers. His smooth, slender fingers laced between her own as easy as breathing, curling into her soft palm. In their ride down the empty turbolift, this simple connection was everything. They broke apart when the door slid open again, his hands coming to rest behind his back as if to hide some grave transgression. But that touch alone had spoken a thousand words.

As they took a seat together at the replimat, she felt a pang of familiarity that echoed across nine lifetimes. Like this was something they could do every day for the rest of her life. And it felt right to feel that with him.

What use were mere words in this?

Words did not do this sort of thing justice, anyway.


	2. Houseplants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She got him a gift. He's more than charmed by it.

2:

Ezri knew that she was in trouble from the moment she saw the florist's table this morning.

The Bajoran florist had just returned with a fresh, bountiful shipment of native florals from the planet below, tall buckets overflowing with long-stemmed Bajoran lilies in rich creams and bright whites. Beautiful bouquets of brightly-hued Bajoran lilacs were on display, artfully wrapped in simple brown butcher paper and tied together with twine. The dazzling display had been put out early in anticipation for the morning prayer services at the temple, where the flowers were popular as tributes to the prophets and the other hopefuls.

No, it wasn't the flowers that had caught her eye. It was the lone, odd plant sitting on the receiving table behind the florist that was the subject of her scrutiny. It was some sort of native cactus, a fleshy succulent with big, thick pads and tiny hairlike growths that gave it a texture like velvet. It was budding, a cluster of small, simple yellow flowers piled on the tops of its fleshy lobes. It's home was a hand-formed clay pot adorned with small pebbles and rocky soil.

This weird, homely little plant was perfectly suited for a certain someone she knew. A certain someone who had a habit of carrying odd little bits and baubles home, a certain someone who was endlessly entertained by the novel and the unusual.

She bought it for him. She didn't really have any choice. 

She had the feeling that it would have ended up in her sitting room, anyway.

\---

Weyoun had been in a right mood when he walked through the door that afternoon, Worf's habitual sniping and Sisko's sarcasm at the meeting having gotten him all riled up. He practically ripped his jacket off and roughly plunked the padd he had been holding on the couch. All of that pent-up aggression dropped off of his shoulders when he'd caught sight of his gift.

“What is this?”

“A gift. I thought it was a very you sort-of-thing, so I got it. Do you like it? It's a Dahkur Lobed Cactus.”

“I've never seen this before. Where did you get it?”

“At the flower shop this morning. Derna came in with her weekly shipment today, and this was one of the more unique things she had to offer. It had you written all over it, so I had to get it.”

Weyoun traced the pad of his thumb over the velvet skin of the plant, marveling how it reminded him of the fine softness of her cheeks. It was certainly unusual; he had never seen anything quite like this plant before and it would certainly find itself a place in his eclectic collection. But this moment felt like more than that.

She had taken the time out of her day and money out of her wallet to purchase something that would please him-- for no other purpose than to bring him joy. It didn't matter to him what the gift was, or how much it cost, or how truly unique it was. They could be worthless as dirt and a dime a dozen and it wouldn't matter even a little bit because it was her thought that counted. When you'd lived five lifetimes bereft of love, you starved for it and looked for it in everything-- even if it was something as simple as a little gift. 

Something in his chest knotted and twisted over the idea that she thought of him throughout the day. A thread of satisfaction shot through him as he realized this was proof that he did suffer the drowning weight of this affection alone.

He may not be able to see beauty in the same way she did. He had no reference as to whether or not this plant was beautiful. But he could gauge beauty in other ways; in touch, in emotion, in intention.

In all of these ways, this gift-- and the woman that had gifted it-- was beautiful.

“I do. Like it, I mean,” Weyoun responded, his attention turning back to her. His large, bright eyes turned their weighty stare on her, looking into her, scanning her face, her thoughts. Whatever he was thinking about, she had a feeling that they had transcended the subject of new houseplants and material gratitude and had moved on to something heavier, more meaningful.

“I will love and cherish it all of my days, Ezri.”

“Don't you think that's a little intense? It's just a cactus,” Ezri said. Her spots were starting to itch, as they often did when she was nervous or embarrassed. He was so intense right now that it was a little frightening. She loved the undefined, sweet thing that they'd had together...but she had a feeling that something about it was about to change.

“Not at all. I always mean what I say,” Weyoun said, drawing close to her and taking her hands in his. “Take it from my liar's lips, Ezri Dax. I certainly did mean every word of that. In every way.”

He brought her hand to his cool lips and pressed their fullness against her soft skin, letting it linger as his heartbeat crashed about in his head. He pressed a slow kiss to each of her fingers, to the softness of her wrist, desperately willing her to understand that which she would never believe coming from his mouth. 

_Gods, please...don't let me be wrong,_ he begged. _There is no living without this._

She watched in a haze as he burned trails of hot fire up her wrist, up her arm. The spots that traced her body were burning. She felt like she was primed to ignite.

There was no escape from this fire.

_Oh yes._

__

__

_Trouble indeed._


	3. Snooze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out of bed in the morning is a hard thing to do.

**Snooze**

Ezri's favorite time of day was that moment fresh from sleep where everything was still fuzzy and cozy and comfortable. That moment just after the alarm rings where you could just shut your eyes and drift back under for another hour.

The preset alarm had gone off at 0430 this morning, giving her an hour's head start before she had to be in uniform and in Ops at start of shift...but it was proving to be a herculean task to roll out of bed and get started when you were this comfortable. Especially given the fact that her lover had wrapped himself around her like a cuddly starfish with a vengeance (a common habit of his that while endearing, could be somewhat inconvenient). Unless she was planning on jostling him awake, she was stuck in place until she came up with a plan B.

He'd really pulled off a real piece of work here. His arm was slung low over her slender hip, the other tucked under her neck to cradle the back of her head and tangle his fingers in her rumpled hair. He had tucked his head beneath her chin, his poof of thick, bushy hair pushed up against her face.

Her heart warmed with contentment at the enormity of it all, the warm sheets, their bare skin, his slight snore. Their legs were tangled together beneath the rumpled downy comforter, bunched mostly on her side of the bed. The slight pressure of his chest rising and falling against hers in slumber and the warm whisper of breath where his lips met her clavicle were such simple delights, so sweet and innocent that it seemed sinful to break it.

_Innocent._

_Well, maybe not that innocent._

She remembered last night. Remembered him worshipping every single one of her spots with the whisper of his lips, remembered sucking hard at the soft, pale skin of his neck and tasting his sweat. Remembered the pulse of hot breath as their lips crashed together hungrily, the slow, deep rocking of their hips, the hot fire that shot straight through her, from her core down to her feet in a warm, toe-curling tingle. The second crest as he followed her into that blissful burn, that hot tide crashing as he bit down on his lip to suppress his groan. Remembered the proud smile on his face in the afterglow once he realized that he knew how to please her, that he'd had nothing to fear to begin with.

He'd been nervous about this.

To this day, he still struggled with his self-worth. At the deepest level of his psyche, he was always afraid that this was a game, that Ezri would pull the rug from underneath him and laugh at how hard he had fallen. That all of this--this life, this happiness, his journey-- had been nothing more than a cosmic joke. She could tell him a million times that it wasn't true-- and had, 'til she was blue in the face-- but no mere words could soothe that bleeding wound. He'd lived five lifetimes in which his personhood did not matter. All she could do was show him in _this lifetime,_ show him often, and prove him wrong every day. Maybe then he would truly believe that she was as in love with him as he was with her. Maybe one day she could just love him without having something to prove.

She lay still, soaking up every possible minute of this before she had no choice but to get up. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment than to sleep in until mid-morning, wrapped in him. She unthinkingly began carding her fingers through his thick hair, running her nails lightly against his scalp, tracing the elegant twist of the shell of his ear. It was easy to forget in moments like this that there was a bloody war going on outside, a war that was also being waged inside this man. It was easy to forget that she fought on the front lines of both. As wonderful as this was, she could not stay here forever. Time would eventually force them to move on.

He began stirring then, inhaling sharply through his nose, his eyelashes fluttering against the skin of her neck. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice quiet. He was still mostly asleep. “You're up early.”

“I'm supposed to be getting ready for work. I don't really want to.”

He only responds by wrapping himself around her tighter, trying to burrow into her, to melt under her skin. Begging her without words to stay a minute longer.

She did.

And if she was a few minutes late upstairs, nobody said a word.


	4. Lampshade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poisonous thoughts in the dark.

There were times when she forgot how alien he actually was.

It would usually come to roost in the middle of the night, when she would wake up to a pair of huge, violet bioluminescent eyes fixed on her, picking up enough of Bajor-B’hava’el’s light from the filtered viewport to give them a low glow in the dark. It happened most often on the tough nights where the Vorta had trouble sleeping.

The nightmares had come back with a vengeance this week. Weyoun had woken twice this week drenched in cold sweat, panting from the stress. He dug in his heels, refusing to speak of what he saw in his dreams that disturbed him so. He didn’t have to speak it. Ezri could probably guess.

All she could do in those moments was wrap her arms around him and hold him close. To shine the spotlight on his fear and force him to move past it.

They lay like that for a while in the dark, her drifting in and out of a light doze and he simply clinging to her for dear life. The only things that mattered in the world right now were the two of them and a safe harbor from the storm that threatened to sink him.

 

_You are defective,_ the voices in his head jeered. _You are wrong. You are corrupted._

Seven spoke in his ear. _Prove your loyalty to the Founders. Activate it!_

 

“Ezri,” Weyoun whispered lowly. “When will you get tired of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You deserve better than to have to babysit me, Ezri. You deserve so much more than this.”

Ezri let go of him, sitting up to turn on the lamp beside the bed. The light revealed his face, strangely blank for all of the tremors that racked him. His eyes were blank. His lips were a little raw, he’d evidently been chewing at them out of habit again. She forced him to face her.

“Okay. Where the hell is this coming from, Younie?”

“...Nowhere. I’ve just been thinking. You know, the one good thing about insomnia is that you get time to think? It’s not like I can do anything else--”

“Stop, Weyoun. What’s going on?”

He looked away from her towards the floor, sinking back into the pillows with resignation, picking at his fingernails. “I’m not alright in the head, Ezri. You deserve better than a date with insomnia three times a week and a grown man cowering under the weight of his own thoughts. This? This is pathetic. You deserve to come home to someone better. More whole.”

 

_You are defective. You are wrong. You are corrupted._

_Prove your loyalty to the Founders. Activate it!_

 

“Don’t tell me what I deserve, Weyoun. I know what I got into when we chose to be together. Remember what I said? All or nothing? It’s still true. All of this, all of the good times, all of the bad? That’s all you. You aren’t who you are without all that. And if my choice is to come home to you and drag you through your worst, then you had better accept that. Because that’s my choice.”

He rolled into her suddenly, burying his face into her shoulder and heaving a sigh. His hands clung to her, latching onto her shoulder, her bare hip, pulling himself so close into her it was like he was trying to crawl inside her.

“If that’s still your choice, know that I am grateful. I can only hope that you won’t regret it someday.”

“Regret you? Never.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder as she turned the light back out, settling in close beside her again. He still couldn’t sleep, but the long hours of the night would be a little more bearable with the reassurance that for the moment, he was loved.


	5. Warning Sign (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezri can make her own choices, thank you very much.

Ezri sat down with Weyoun to an early lunch in the Replimat today. It was nice to be able to see him between their scheduled sessions, in a setting that was a little less formal.

She had selected steamed whitefish with caper butter for her meal-- and it certainly was good, don't get her wrong-- but the real treat of the day was watching Weyoun display his newfound mastery of chopsticks while picking through a bowl of spicy peanut noodles. He was so proud of his newfound ability, it tickled her. It was heartening to see him happy for once, a real smile illuminating his face. 

That only made what she had to tell him today a little harder.

His condition had markedly improved in the last month and she'd felt it was appropriate to begin reducing the frequency of his appointments to give him a better chance to acclimate to normal life and see how lasting the improvement actually was. She hadn't had the chance to tell him yet-- she was looking for the right chance-- but she was hoping his mood was good enough today that he would take it relatively well.

Well... That was part of the reason, at least. The official one, anyway.

The second, secret reason for stepping back was that he seemed to be getting overly attached. To her.

No, he hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything. This might all be in her head. But she swears that he's got a little crush on her and as a clinician, she's not sure how she feels about it. It's something in his eyes when he sees her, how frequently he seeks her out in public. Like he basks in her aura and can't get enough. Once you peeled back all of his nettle-like layers of defensiveness and lies, he was actually very sweet and very thoughtful-- but his identity was still inexorably tied to the actions of his predecessors in her mind, and that was something she still hasn't found a way to completely look past. Ezri actually rather liked him, but Jadzia reeled hard every time she thought about it.

She likes him, but she's not sure she could continue to ignore this and lead him on. She's not sure that she could be with him in that way.

Come on. He's a Vorta. Not even _a_ Vorta, he's _The Vorta._

"Ezri? Is something wrong?"

She started, focusing back on him. He was idly twirling noodles around in his bowl with his chopsticks. He'd caught her zoning out and appeared concerned.

"Sorry. Long night last night. You know how that is. What were you saying again?"

"...Ah. The Bajoran Peldor Festival is coming up in two weeks. Odo says that if things continue to be as calm as they are, the Intelligence Committee will allow me to attend some of the festivities with a decreased security detail."

"Oh. That's good! You need a chance to be somewhere other than your room or Ops for once. That'll be good for you. I hope you get to go."

Weyoun went quiet suddenly, avoiding her eyes and playing with the garnish on his dish. "...I was told that if I went with a member of senior staff, they could pull my detail altogether so they could use them for general security."

Oh.

_Oh._

_Did he just try to ask me out? I'm pretty sure he just did._

"Were you planning on attending?"

"I might go. I haven't decided yet," Ezri said, trying to gently deflect him off of the subject. It seemed to work, he backed off the subject, a practiced fake smile coming over his face as he tried to mimic an air of dismissal.

"Well...do let me know if you change your mind."

She felt a pang in her chest as she felt his cheer dim, hidden behind his affable mask. 

She'd missed her chance. She couldn't cut him loose now. It would snuff his heart out.

So she switched the subject to Jake's ridiculous new jacket and they were back to laughing again.

All is well.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A couple of days later, she saw him again. She finally got her chance. 

She tagged it in to the tail end of his next scheduled session with her. Everything had gone well, so far. He was seemingly back to his old self and was eager to chit chat with her. Whatever hurt feelings he may have had after she turned his stealth invitation down had apparently been smoothed back into place, like it never happened. He didn't reference it again. When she brought it up to him, he flippantly blew it off, like it was some sort of fleeting desire that he didn't really care a whole lot about.

That was her first sign that this conversation was going to be difficult. Obviously it _had_ meant something. And the fact that he felt the need to hide it meant that it was a _significant something._

"Weyoun... You've been doing really well. Have you noticed that?"

"I suppose so. All thanks to your help, of course. You have no idea how grateful I am about that, Ezri. If not for you... I may not be sitting here today."

"...thank you. That's quite a compliment. I'm glad we've been able to...uh, work together so well. But you really shouldn't count yourself out. The person that's been doing most of the heavy lifting is you."

"If you say so," he conceded.

"Since you've shown such amazing progress, I think it may be time to trim back the number of appointments we have. You really don't need three appointments a week anymore. I would like to see how you do with a monthly checkup. Give you some of your life back again, you know?"

He looked alarmed.

"Ezri? Are you sure about this? I don't think that's a good idea. I think you may be overestimating me."

"Have a little faith in yourself, Weyoun. You can do this. You'll be fine." 

"Have I done something wrong? If I have, I apologize."

"No, Weyoun. You haven't done anything wrong. It's just time to let you fly free now, that's all--"

He wasn't buying it. That much was evident in the shocked, pale cast to his face. "This is about what I asked you at lunch the other day, isn't it? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that, it was inappropriate..."

"No! No! Weyoun, this isn't about that at all. Look," she said, crossing over to the couch he was seated on and sitting next to him, taking his hand in hers in a warm, friendly hand clasp. "You're stronger than you think you are. But you've moved past the point where I can help you. Don't you want to get to the point where you don't have to come see me all the time? This is a good thing for you, I promise."

_No it is not,_ his face said, even as his lips said otherwise. There was a sudden, dramatic shift in his body language; she could practically feel him fortifying himself again in his fortress of infinite masks. He was looking at her with piercing eyes and the intensity of his gaze felt so intrusive that it was almost like he was picking her brain like the Tal'Shiar. She could tell he _knew._

"...I see. Thank you, Lieutenant Dax. Whatever treatment protocol you think is most appropriate, I will comply with."

"Weyoun--"

"If you'll excuse me Counselor, I am feeling quite tired. I must take my leave. Thank you."  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Well,_ she admitted to herself one week later. _Verdict's in. I'm a shitbag and I suck at my job._

If Weyoun had seemed well before, what was happening now was clearly a sign that much of what he had been displaying before was nothing more than an elaborate ruse he had no interest in continuing. He'd taken a sharp turn towards self-destructive isolationism in the last week, if the rumors were any indication.

Where he found reasons to bump into her frequently before, it seemed now like he'd never existed at all. He might as well have been a figment of her imagination. His usual seat at the replimat sat empty. He failed to show to his medical appointment with Julian, who he met with monthly to evaluate his chronic medical problems. According to Odo, he had stopped taking his medications suddenly and refused to leave his room. He slept constantly. He had no appetite or interest in anything.

He locked himself away in his room and refused to allow anyone save Sisko and Odo to enter. She had sent him a communique when she realize how serious the situation was-- with read-receipt requested-- but he had yet to reply. Her hunch was that he did not intend to reply at all.

Suddenly, an eye-violatingly bright blue drink served in a fishbowl with frilly umbrellas was plunked in front of her on the bar, courtesy of the station's Ferengi bartender. Seriously, what was it with Quark and his constant attempts to get her to try his boozy monster drink?

"What's with the long face?"

"Ugh. Everything," Ezri huffed.

"If you want one of my famous Ferengi Nuggets of Wisdom, you're gonna have to be a little more specific."

"I took a good thing and screwed it up for no reason."

"Really? Considering that 100% of the time someone says there's no reason there actually does turn out to be a reason, I'm going to call bullshit. Go ahead, try again. What's wrong?"

She was still trying to find a way to put it into words when Quark interrupted her.

"You told your Vorta admirer to take a hike. That it?"

"Oh my god! How do you even know about that?!"

"Ezri, who doesn't know about it? He's been mooning all over you for two months. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to notice it. It's the talk of the station!"

"...I just don't know what to do about him. He's a nice guy, I like him...but Jadzia is sounding the alarms. She keeps telling me that being around him is a very bad idea. What do I do? Because listening to her intuition is just making everything worse!"

"Bit of advice?" Quark asked her.

She nodded. She would take anything at this point. Even Quark's financially skewed advice.

"Jadzia was crazy about Worf. That should tell you all you need to know, no accounting for taste there. It doesn't matter what Jadzia wants. It's Ezri's life now. So, do what _you_ want. Or, er...who you want. Don't let guilt-tripping sulking Vorta make your decision for you. Whatever you do, make sure it's coming from you and nowhere else.

"Do whatever you think is right," Quark said, wandering off to his next patron. "You're a good egg. You'll do the right thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2. I would write the rest of it but...nah  
> To post later this week, probably


	6. Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voices in them talk among their many lives. Some of them have been talked about enough.

They found themselves lying on a rocky outcrop under the desert sky, watching the stars and galaxies wheel slowly in the heavens above. The crisp desert night meant that they were wrapped together in a fleece blanket, his arm looped low around her hip  Ezri pointed the clusters of glittering stars out to him, telling him stories of the constellations as he struggled to follow her line of sight. His poor vision made it very difficult for him to see any of it, but she's settled with describing the beauty of what was going on above them and he hung on her every word like it was the most beautiful story ever told. Being his eyes tonight was turning out to be quite an intimate experience.

"That cluster right there, those five blue stars? That's the Argolis. The Bajorans call it the Cradle of the Prophets."

"That's a surprisingly accurate name. Isn't the Argolis a protostar cluster?"

"It is. I went through it, once. Well, _I_ didn't... _Jadzia_ did. It was a desperate gambit to take out the Dominion sensor array that was hidden on the other side. Nobody had ever done it before, since it was so dangerous. But Jadzia...she was a pretty lucky person. She pulled off the victory."

"Oh, I remember that. You should have seen the look on my face when they told me about that one," he laughed, moving to rest his cold cheek on her shoulder as they continued to watch the wheeling of the sky above. Ezri went quiet for a while, lost in thought, as she played with the twining of their fingers. His ear was very warm where it met the skin of her neck and his thick hair smelled vaguely of sandalwood. It was odd to think that this man shared the same identity as her enemy, had indeed _been_ him once. But Six was made of different things than Five or Seven. He was his own person now, even if he shared memories with his less savory incarnations...and that meant that the two of them were not so different, really. She had old skeletons in her closet too, if she looked hard enough.

"The crew on the station misses her. I get the feeling that they look at me and expect to see her there instead."

Weyoun sighed as he moved his face to the hollow of her neck, his eyelashes tickling her skin. She was brooding now, he could feel it, and it had something to do with Jadzia. This was not a new conversation, and indeed came up frequently whenever the tender subject of Jadzia came up, even in passing. He curled into her, simply waiting for the next shoe to drop.

"You know...what you said last time really got to me."

 

"What? What did I say? I'm afraid I say a lot of things, so you'll have to refresh my memory," he laughs. The air is cold enough to turn his breathy laugh into a cloud of steam.

"About the other Weyouns? You know, that you feel like people look at you and only see the ones that came before? I'm saying that I  _know_ that feeling. And I know that getting upset about it is petty... but I can't help it, I still do. It _does_ upset me, no matter how many times I tell myself that they're not trying to hurt me." Ezri pulls away from him, sitting up, wanting to close herself off to brood. He lets her.

"Old Man was always meant for Jadzia. It's not meant for me," Ezri mumbles. "Whenever he says it, I just get the distinct feeling that he's looking at me and seeing her instead. Like he's disappointed. I know that's not true, Sisko's been through this with both Curzon and Jadzia... but I can't shake the feeling. And I don't know why."

He rises next to her, reaching for the thermos of hot tea they brought with them, pouring a cup of it for her. The steam rolls off of the hot liquid as he takes in the soothing scent of flowers and herbs. He hands it to her then, making sure his keeps his warm hands wrapped around hers after he hands her the cup. "That's something that we can both relate to. Rationally, you know it's wrong but it doesn't help. It's always...there."

"Yeah."

He watches her sip her lemongrass tea, marveling at the turns his life has taken to bring him to this exact place in the universe. He went from a war coordinator and servant to a brutal tyrannical galactic power--indeed, spent many lives in that ascent--but he finds himself now merely a man, lazing under the night sky with his Trill beloved. Indeed, some may look at him and see something shameful in his effort to throw the traces of his past lives away, but he considered himself blessed. He'd hungered for affection for so long that the first time she embraced him felt like a religious experience. He'd managed to find himself in the company of a kindred spirit in the new Dax and had in fact grown quite smitten with her...and he felt himself immeasurably fortunate that she seemed to like him too. He knew she was beautiful. He knew that she was unique. His only loss was getting her to see herself the way he sees her. If only she knew what she did to him at this very moment, sitting there painted in light and shadow...

"I'm sorry. We were having a beautiful night and I'm ruining it by brooding," she laments, twisting her fingers about in her hands.

"Don't apologize, Ezri. You have nothing to apologize for. There is time enough for us to cuddle and do nothing later."

"I'd just like them to see me for me sometimes, you know. To look at me and see Ezri, not Dax. For Worf and Quark and Julian to realize that Jadzia is gone and I'm not her anymore. I just want a chance to stand out and be my own person for once."

  
He sweeps a finger through the dark locks splayed across her face and pecks her softly on her cool cheek, his soft lips timidly brushing its curve.

"I don't care about Jadzia or Curzon," Weyoun murmurs in her ear. " _Ezri Tigan_ is the only one I care about, the only one that matters. And Ezri is brave and bold and young, and she will have many chances to prove herself. Don't fret just yet, dear. Your story is just beginning."

She tucks her head in close to his chest and marvels at her fortune for meeting this beautiful soul. This Weyoun was beautiful and sweet and candid, a little mournful at times, but he was always unfailingly honest with her. And she knew without doubt that he was telling her the truth now, as she hung the moon and stars in his sky and he loved her without end. He was the one she turned to when she felt the most distressed, having shared each others' blackest secrets and darkest hours. She knew that when he looked at her, he saw her only and that he loved her and her alone.

"Come, love...tell me about this one," He says, pulling her back down into their warm nest of blankets, so he could wrap himself around her again. He showered her with affection as she continued telling him stories, the two of them making love as the moon began its descent from its high station in the sky. Come the soft light of the dawn she gazed upon his sleeping face and felt her heart ache with the enormity of emotion she felt for him. There was something in him--his beauty, his charm, his resilience-- that beckoned to her and fed her, that strengthened her and sorrowed with her. He moved in sync with her in ways he could never imagine. And there under the cool desert dawn, she was struck with a sudden realization:

She was addicted to him.


	7. Dancing (1/2)

Weyoun 6 peered at himself in the mirror as hard as he could, examining the shape of his face and the nature of his features. Without a sense of aesthetics, he was lost. He could only describe himself in a very broad, generalist sense. The most accurate description he could make of himself would check the box on every other Vorta male he knew.

He had two eyes, with violet irises that were much larger than typical humanoid eyes, as all Vorta do. His eyelashes and eyebrows were dark. He had elongated, ridged ears, the same auditory amplifying nodes that were the trait of all Vorta. His skin tone was pale. His nose and jaw were of typical humanoid shape. He was shorter than most men on the station. His features appeared to be consistent with that of a middle-aged man.

He didn’t understand.

How did one decide what was ‘beautiful’ or 'handsome?’ The physical qualifiers for that seemed to change depending on the species. According to what he’d read, it also had to do with confidence. With other things like wealth or youth. Charisma.

This wasn’t telling him anything. He could stare at himself all day and not find out a thing.

Besides, he remembers what her friends said about him during the occupation. He remembers overhearing them talking about him, sauced with liquor. How they disliked talking to him. How 'plastic’ his smile was. How 'creepy’ he was. How they wanted to wipe the smile of of his 'ugly little face.’ They compared him disfavorably to some manner of rodent to uproarious laughter.

No…

He couldn’t be a good looking person. The odds were stacked against his favor. He didn’t look at all like any of the other people she’s dated. They were strong, noble types. Young, vigorous, or brilliant. People always spoke of how charming and young Bashir was or how stalwart and honorable Worf was.

Were there any superlatives that applied to him? Any good ones? He couldn’t think of any.

He thought of what that one officer at the bar had told him a few nights ago. He’d accused him of “robbing the cradle,” which was obviously meant to imply that Six was too old or poorly matched to be in a relationship with Dax. Yes, he understood the man had been jealous…but was there not a certain grain of truth to it? He hadn’t been the first one to say such a thing, either. He likely would not be the last.

What was age to either of them, anyway? This body was a scant year old, but the mind it housed has been around for many lifetimes. Dax was over three-hundred years old, but Ezri was in her twenties. Age as a number had ceased to have meaning. But other people wouldn’t think that way.

Six turned to the side then, shrugging out of his jacket to analyze his physique. He wasn’t muscular or toned like the other men that he’d seen. Just as he pinched the soft skin at his hip, Ezri came barging in.

“Uh, Six…What are you doing?”

“N-nothing,” he cried as he spun around, pulling his undershirt back into place. He tried to effect a casual style and posture, the effect ruined by his fluster. “Ah, Zee! Welcome home. How was your day? I trust it went well…”

“Morn was being difficult again,” Ezri sighed, shrugging out of her stiff uniform top down to her long-sleeved undershirt, slinging her dress blacks onto the back of the settee where Six snatched it up, popping it in the washbasket. “Quark said something today that got him all up in a tizzy, so we had to unpack  _that_. And that’s what gets me, he’s not even my patient! His  _mom_  is! I swear.”

She had to laugh at Six’s extreme fastidiousness; however much he had deviated from the mold, his extreme attachment or orderliness was still very much a part of him, as was his extreme curiosity and his genetically engineered proclivity for subtle and ambiguous facial expressions. As sweet and earnest as he was, he was also like reading an enigma tale, full of twisted knots of guilt and frustration and veiled motives. But she meant that in the best possible way. He was her Younie, a sweet and gentle jumble of nerves and hopefulness and insecurities.

Despite his helpfulness– cleaning their quarters, having dinner ready for her– it was obvious that there was something bothering him.

He wouldn’t be trying so hard to hide it, otherwise.

They sat at the table, working on dinner together. He asked about the station gossip of the day, what their friends were up to…he seemed to want her to keep her on her toes. Odd.

““Speaking of what’s going on, I have heard that there’s going to be a little gala at Vic’s at the end of the week. Courtesy of Quark and the Bajoran War Orphans Fund,” she says as she polishes off the rest of her bowl of fried azna.

“You don’t suppose Quark knows that we’re aware that that’s not a real charity?”

“No, and we’re not going to tell him we know, either. It’s like an in-joke at this point. He pays enough to the magistrate in fines that some of it actually does go to charity, so it works out. Just think about it…drinks, dinner…a little bit of dancing…”

“From the sound of it, you’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Maybe,” she teased, moving over to join him on the couch. “We’ve been cooped up for a week. Don’t you think it would be nice to get out? Spend some time with our friends, get some fresh air? Allow me to show you off?”

Weyoun blushed. She spoke of showing him off as if he were some sort of prize.

“If that’s what you want, I have no problem with that–”

“No problem? I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic about it,” She quipped coyly, slipping her fingertip just under the collar of his shirt and teasing him with the softest of touches on his collarbone. “It’s not like we’re going to a trial. Just a night out on the town. Dinner, dancing…something special at the end, maybe. Just for you.”

“I don’t have anything to wear, but I suppose I could talk to Garak.”

“You do that,” she says, pecking him softly on the corner of his lips, reveling in the hot blush that colored his cheeks and the hitching of his breath. “It’s a date! No backing out! You’re going to have a great time, I promise.”

“As long as you’re there, how could it be anything but? I look forward to it, Zee. I would be honored to accompany you.”

“Sweeter words have never been spoken,” she teased as she moved in to claim his lips in another kiss. Everything sort of melted away after that, a sunburn of bliss that had faded out everything he’d been worried about and gotten him drunk on her. Her soft touches, her sensual whispers… the way she bit her lip. Her eyes. The way she could cut through his dissembling layers down to the heart of things and render him defenseless. If he was a code, she had the key.

She was incredible. Like nothing else he’d ever experienced before in life. He knew without doubt that there would only ever be one Ezri Dax and she had inexplicably picked him.

He was apparently pleasing enough to her. That was all he needed to know for now.


End file.
